


Gray November

by violettavioletta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Sad Remus Lupin, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violettavioletta/pseuds/violettavioletta
Summary: Ever since Sirius went to Azkaban, November 3rd has been a difficult day for Remus. WolfStar.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Gray November

_November 3rd._

_Sirius Black's birthday._

**1981**

Remus is so busy making funeral arrangements, and trying to beat the press away, and trying not to think about the way the bodies had looked when he had identified them, trying not to think about the mad look in Sirius's eye in the mugshot they had published in the Prophet, that he almost forgets what day it is.

Almost.

But in the end, he has spent too many November 3rds sneaking into Hogsmeade or running about the castle or participating in wild party games in Gryffindor Tower to forget. It is Sirius's twenty-second birthday. They should be celebrating. They should be at James and Lily's, with a big cake and a lot of firewhiskey, getting scolded by Lily for keeping Harry up and laughing as the baby makes a grab for their drinks. Maybe he should have a drink now, he thinks to himself. He hasn't had one since they died, he's been too busy with everything. He wants to forget, he needs to forget, but he has spent far too many November 3rds laughing and yelling and being happy to forget.

And he's spent too many November 3rd nights wrapped up in Sirius's arms to remember.

So he drinks Sirius's own firewhiskey, a bottle the man told him he was saving for his birthday. He gets far too drunk to find any sort of poetic irony in the act.

**1982**

It is November 3rd again, and he is in a pub in France, and Merlin, he's _drunk_. Not tipsy, like he used to get with Sirius, not just drunk enough to fall asleep like he was last year, but _drunk_.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he should stop, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming urge to swallow down fire again and again and again until he doesn't remember his own name, let alone Sirius's. He doesn't even notice that he's going to throw up, but clearly the bartender does, because he points to the door and says something in French that Remus doesn't understand, but he gets the message. He stumbles just outside the pub and vomits what is surely everything inside him, until he's empty, just like he's been for two years now.

He resolves, as he straightens up, to never, ever spend this day drinking ever again. Sirius Black is not worth that.

**1983**

He is working in a Muggle bookshop. He had specifically asked to work tonight, to have something to do. And it is going well, he thinks. He's up front, stocking shelves, and really, he's doing fine. He likes it at the Muggle bookshop, perhaps he'll try to find another one, when he has to leave in a few moons. Really, for November 3rd, he's doing excellent, having a great night.

Everything would've been peachy, if not for the stupid dog.

It doesn't look like Padfoot, not really. This dog is smaller, and more brown than black, and it's on a leash, being walked by a woman who looks rather pompous, too pompous for a dog like that. Remus only catches a quick glimpse of it through the front window. On any other night, he surely could've ignored it, could've watched them pass and been fine. But not tonight.

The supervisor walks by just then, and starts at the sight of Remus's face.

"Are you ill, Remus?" he asks, concerned. He's a nice man, the supervisor. Remus tries to shake his head, but it is obvious he is lying.

"Go home, Remus", the supervisor says, "We'll be alright here."

And so Remus does. He gets home and falls to the ground in his front hall, panting, sweating. He hasn't been drinking. But it seems he didn't need to.

**1984**

He spends the night watching some stupid Muggle films, whatever's on TV. He changes the channel if any of them have motorcycles in them, though.

**1985**

By the time November 3rd rolls around, he's been thinking about the Wolfsbane Potion so obsessively that he almost forgets it is November 3rd.

He'd done alright in Potions, even taking it at NEWT level and scraping up a passing grade through his extensive theoretical knowledge, but he was not an excellent brewer. He had always had a difficult time in Potions class, because he had always been far too busy watching Sirius's hands to pay attention. He had always told himself he was only watching Sirius because Sirius was a better potioneer than he, not because he was fascinated by how strong and confident Sirius's movement were, not because he was imagining Sirius's hands somewhere else…

He needs to go to bed, now. Before he starts rethinking his "no drinking on November 3rd" policy.

**1986**

He is working briefly at the Ministry, as a bookkeeper and secretary. He doesn't expect to be here long, any day now, someone will do their research properly and realize he's a werewolf, but they had been rather short-staffed when he applied, and he did have excellent qualifications. Really, he was highly overqualified for this. But really, he was highly overqualified for every job he'd ever had. Nothing to be done.

His task for the day isn't difficult, he's just supposed to go through some old familial records and mark where they might be rotting or need replacement, or if there's any evidence of external curse damage. But of course, of _course_ , the fourth file in the tome is the Black family's. And of course, of _course_ , Sirius's page is right on top.

Bloody fucking hell, this day must be cursed.

He drops the records and leaves, writing a quick resignation note to his supervisor on the way out. He was going to need a new job soon, anyway.

**1987**

He doesn't know why he didn't come here sooner, really. Merlin knew he had wanted to. But he had been out of the country for a long time, hiding like a coward, and then he'd always been busy with one job or another, and really, deep down, he wasn't sure he could handle it. And now, under a disillusion charm on Privet Drive, watching the way those people treat Lily and James' son, he still isn'y sure he can handle it.

Petunia, he thinks that is Lily's sister's name, does not look like Lily, and she does not act like her. She is cruel, that is the only way to put it. Not to her own son, but to Lily's. When she sends the boys off to school in the morning, she kisses her son, gives him a hug, tells him she loves him. Harry gets only a whack on the head for being slow. When they return from school, her son is ushered inside, while Harry is directed to the bushes, where he sets about cutting off dead branches with an expertise and precision that suggests he is used to this treatment, and that he will be punished if it is not done right.

He wants to kidnap the boy, he realizes. He wants to take him away from here. He needs to leave, now.

He is just so, so _angry_ at how everything turned out, he thinks as he walks away. Harry should be living with Sirius, that was how it was supposed to be, if anything happened to Lily and James.

 _Nothing would've happened to Lily and James_ , he quickly reminds himself, _If it wasn't for Sirius. Black, if it wasn't for Black._

It's been six years, and he _still_ can't stop thinking of the Sirius he knew, and start thinking of Sirius as he truly is.

**1988**

He spends the night watching the moon out the open window. It is still waning, the full moon wasn't very long ago. His transformations are rather terrible these days, especially now that he's no longer got the prospect of Wolfsbane Potion to give him hope. He has nothing, now. He is completely and utterly alone.

He should close that window. It's freezing.

**1989**

He has just moved into a cottage in Yorkshire, using a bit of money he'd inherited and a bit he'd managed to save. He sits on his chair (there is not room for a couch), pointedly avoiding looking at the calendar. He chooses, instead, to look about the cottage. It looks alright, really, now that he's moved everything into it. A bit sparse, but that's alright.

It is small, but probably not too small for another person. Two people could probably live here, not in comfort, but not entirely on top of each other. But there is only one person here. And there only ever will be one person here.

**1990**

He's got a box, tucked away in a high cupboard. He tells himself it is not important. But it's where he keeps all of his old photographs from Hogwarts, his old photographs of… of Peter, and… and Lily and James… and Sirius.

He should burn the damn thing, really.

But tonight, November 3rd, he finds himself reaching up for it, bringing it down. He tells himself he only wants to see the pictures of Lily and James and Peter, that it was absolutely nothing to do with Sirius, with Black. He even goes so far as to cover that one face with his thumb, when he holds the photographs, so that he sees only himself and three dead people.

But it doesn't work. He tells himself he's imagining it, and he probably is. But it's like he can feel Sirius's face under his thumb, physically hot, glowing, crying out for him.

**1991**

Harry would have started Hogwarts this year, he finds himself idly thinking. He tries not to think about how Lily's sister likely reacted. He still glows hot with rage when he thinks about Petunia, can still feel the wolf howling inside of him, begging to be unleashed. He forces his mind to another topic. He's got some time before the full moon, he has no desire to let the wolf out so soon.

He wonders if Harry is enjoying Quidditch, and tries not to think about that little toy broomstick he used to have, tries not to think about who gave that to him. He wonders how Harry did in flying lessons, and if James would have been proud.

If Sirius would have been proud.

**1992**

He's got a Gobstones set, in his cottage, sitting on a shelf and gathering dust. It's left over from his Hogwarts days, one of his friends gave it to him. He isn't sure if he genuinely doesn't remember which one, or if deep down, he knows damn well and doesn't want to admit it, even to himself.

He should get rid of that, he thinks to himself, determinedly marching straight to his bedroom as soon as he returns from work, intending to go straight to bed. It's not like he's ever going to have anyone to play with ever again.

**1993**

He really can't stand those damn dementors. Even without thinking about the reason they're here (something they make increasingly difficult to do), he's cold all the time, sad all the time. There's gloom in the air, throughout the school.

He sits in his office, eating some chocolate. He wants to go to bed, he really does, he doesn't even care if he has nightmares. He can't, though. He's too damn cold, everything is too damn cold. The chocolate doesn't help.

**1994**

It has been entirely too long since Sirius touched him. Sirius was on the run and refused to stay with him for very long despite Dumbledore's suggestion that he do so, insisting that it would put him in danger, and so aside from a few desperate embraces, a couple of stolen kisses, they have yet to touch each other in the way they both need. He is sitting in his cottage, wondering rather bitterly if he's allowed to break his no-drinking rule now that he knows the truth about Sirius, when there's a loud _crack_.

He's on his feet in a minute. His wards will only let three people in- himself, Dumbledore… and Sirius. Unless this is a Death Eater attack, and he highly doubts it is, he isn't important enough for that, there are only two people it could be, and considering the date, he doesn't think it's Dumbledore.

"Sirius", he breathes, falling into the other man's arms. Sirius grins.

"Hey, Remus", Sirius says, cheeky as always. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"Shut up, you", Remus says, because Sirius knows exactly what sort of time he came at, surely he can see the ghost of misery on Remus's face, even if it lit up again as soon as he saw Sirius. Sirius knows him so very well.

"What are you doing here?" Remus finally asks, though he doesn't stop touching Sirius, he never wants to stop touching the man ever again.

"Came all the way here just to fuck you, Remus", he says matter-of-factly, but there's mischief in his eyes, and that maddening glint that always drove Remus mad, "It's my birthday, after all."

"Yes", Remus agrees, leaning closer to Sirius's lips, "It's your birthday."

And then his lips are on Sirius's, and he's gone.

**1995**

He lives with Sirius, now, and even though they're fighting a war, even though they could die at any moment, he thinks he is happy.

They share a cake, and they made it themselves, so it isn't that good, but that's alright, it doesn't need to be. Sirius keeps taking bites off his fork even though he's got his own, but it's his birthday, so Remus isn't mad.

When he falls asleep that night with Sirius's arms around him, he wonders how he ever could've thought he'd be unable to teach someone how to conjure a Patronus.

**1996**

He took the day off from any and all Order business. No one asked why, all of them knew. Tonks had looked at him with sympathy, but he had quickly looked away. He had things to do, misery to wallow in. He's returned to his cottage, a bit dusty after being left unused for so long, and sat in that one chair, the hard chair, the one Sirius would never sit in.

For a moment, sitting there in the dark, he finds himself thinking about Tonks, but then he feels the guilt burning inside of him like a fire under a cauldron, and he puts her out of his mind. Puts everything out of mind, and pours himself a tall glass of firewhiskey.

For the first time in over a decade, Remus spends his November 3rd drinking his brains out, drinking until finally, finally, he is empty again.

* * *

_I had a feeling so peculiar_

_that this pain would be for_

_evermore_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this on my ex-girlfriend’s birthday? Yeah, I did. Anyway, this is me officially announcing that I am indeed a swiftie :) Also, if you’re wondering, I looked up the dates of the full moons for every year from 1981 through 1996 to make sure Sirius’s birthday didn’t fall on one throughout that time.


End file.
